A Hearse for His Verse


or
A Young Poet Always Weeps


By © Albert C. Cizauskas

Why do all the poets young
Wish all sorrows to be sung
And like Milton for his pal
Somewhat moist they ever shall
Sweep the elegiac string
And mourn whatever cause they sing?

Were it not better done to drink
And, as some sages do, to cease to think;
To leave the world's befevered confusion
In a haze of alcoholic profusion,
And remember with a wiser man
That scotch does more than reason can?

And yet while poets will be young
And there are rhymes that may be sung,
Like Milton for his pal
Somewhat moist they ever shall
Lament the world's unhappy condition
And consign it all to endless perdition.

Batavia, 1946